Half Lies
by DamaDeHonor
Summary: Sometimes it gets out, doesn't it?" Missouri asked him, "You think it's just instinct, but it's something more, and you've sensed it all along. You were just afraid of it, afraid to be any stranger or more alien than you already were."
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** Some of the quotes are paraphrases. Hope you don't mind.

**Disclaimer:** No infringement (whatever that means) intended. One o' these days I'll get my own show to play with. I promise. Then I'll leave yours alone. :D

**Spoilers:** "mystery spot", "dream a little dream of me", "home", "houses of the holy", "salvation"

**"Half Lies"**

**- 1 -**

Sam hadn't been the most rational and normal lately, but that was normal in itself. What bothered Dean more was the way he caught his little brother looking at him, sometimes, like he was afraid that if he looked away, Dean would be gone next time he looked again.

Dean worried about that for awhile, until Sam shot up in bed one night, scream dying before it even made it to his lips. He snapped on the lamp and demanded, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I think..." Sam began, clutching at his head, and Dean knew the signs, didn't really need to hear the words Sam said next, "I think I just had a vision..."

"What was it?" Dean asked, coming to sit next to Sam on his bed. He touched his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but not sure if it'd be enough.

"Demon... We need to be more careful this hunt," Sam murmured. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "God... I need some..."

"I'll get you something," Dean said, quickly, and got up. There was a chance it was just a dream. But then...

It turned out not to be.

They realized the visions had never really gone away. They'd just changed focus or something. That hunt could have gone really badly, but because of Sam's vision, it didn't. They lived... just so Dean could die in about half-a-year's time, anyway, but still... At least Sam was okay.

And strangely, Dean was more concerned about Sam's visions than he was about his eventual trip down Under. "Why didn't they go away?" he asked, over a plate of something bland and breakfasty, one morning.

Sam shook his head. There was something he wasn't telling Dean. "The mother of that one baby, Rosie--remember when we were in Salvation?" Dean nodded. "She said that when Rosie looked at people, it was almost like she knew what they were thinking, sometimes. So maybe it had nothing to do with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Maybe the children already had whatever powers they had, and so he comes along, exploiting them."

Dean frowned at the images that conjured up. "So he keeps tabs on these third-generation, forth generation... whatever generation psychics, so he can have his army-leader or whatever after they've all duked it out and killed each other off. The fittest wins the prize, or whatever."

Sam nodded vaguely. "Yeah..."

Dean continued, "It makes sense--an older psychic, like Missouri, isn't gonna fall for his demonic spiel, but if he takes some young, innocent mind and twists it from the start, then there's a chance he can get them to do what he wants later on."

Sam started a little, like something had occurred to him. That feeling of him hiding something returned, and Dean wondered, "You think of something?"

"No, it's just..." Sam shook his head, argued, "Not _all_ of the children had visions of Azazel. _I_ didn't..."

Dean thought about it, offered, "Maybe he was afraid of Dad catching on."

Sam nodded, looking veiled and secretive. Dean wanted to pry the thing out of him, but he held his peace.

Then Sam wondered, "Hey... Do you think Mom...?" He looked at Dean warily, like he thought maybe he'd jump on his case for bringing her up. Dean didn't blame him. One time he'd been ready to knock Sam around for carelessly saying that she wasn't ever going to come back.

He didn't interrupt, and Sam continued, "Do you think maybe she had a power, too?"

Dean blinked, scoffed a little, but then frowned as the thought sunk in. How much did he know about his mother, really? He'd been _four_ when she died. It wasn't old enough to know whether she sensed things, whether she had any clue what kind of darkness was out there waiting... waiting for the right time.

_'...angels watching over you...'_

He didn't have to agree with Sam's theory--his brother saw the possibility written all over his stunned expression.

- - -

It was less than a week later that he told Sam to take a break at Bobby's, and he went to go chat with Missouri. Kansas was like a recurring nightmare, but somehow, he made it to her door, without falling on his face.

"Why, Dean Winchester," she said, and her smile was a little sad. "You come right in, sugar." She let him enter, and he found himself quiet, not knowing how to speak to a woman who could read his mind.

_'Dad is dead now'_ kept replaying somewhere in there, and he was sure it was going to give her a headache. But she just asked him, politely, "Would you like something to drink?"

"What, you're not gonna scold me for anything?" he replied, a bit of his usual sarcasm returning. He'd rather have her berating him than looking at him with that pity.

"You want me to?" she shot back, and he found himself at a loss for a rejoinder, as they went into the living room and sat down. She patted his knee, looked him in the eye.

"So Sam's visions have started up again. Don't worry about it. He's got a lot of ability, and that's a good thing in your line of work."

"I'm not worried," he lied. He was. She gave him a look, and he shifted uncomfortably, and blurted out, "Look, lady, I just came because I thought you might know if our mom had psychic abilities."

She stared at him, for a second, looking a little stunned. He was surprised. He hadn't thought he could say anything to her that she didn't already know. She shook her head at him. "I know what you're thinking, not what you're not thinking. When did you boys come up with that theory?"

"Sam said something," he answered, and gave a breathy scoff. "I don't think it's--"

"Don't go lyin' to my face," she interrupted. "If you didn't think there was a possibility, you wouldn't have come here."

He gave her an annoyed glare, and she hesitated for a moment too long. He knew she knew something, and finally she said, "I think maybe your mama knew something before she died. Maybe she knew who he was, the yellow-eyed demon, or maybe she knew baby Sammy was in danger, so she went up to check on him. Who knows? It's possible she had a vision... woke her up in the middle of the night. Sent her to your brother's nursery..."

She searched his face, and a frown appeared between her brows. "What was it that woke you up, hon? Did you smell the smoke?"

Dean stiffened, started to tell her off, and then realized she wasn't trying to push his buttons. "I don't know... I just remember being there, Dad handing me Sammy..." He swallowed, shrugged. "And the rest is history." History. Past. Over.

She shook her head, looking more and more troubled, as if there was something she couldn't dislodge. "You've locked it all up, oh, so tight. No wonder I didn't notice when you came in here with that bright and shining beacon of a brother, last time."

She reached for his cheek, and he flinched, but she laid her hand on his face, anyway. "Oh... dear..." she murmured, and dropped her hand, looked down at her lap for the longest time.

He didn't ask her because he didn't want to know. "Sometimes it gets out, doesn't it?" she asked him, and he froze... a deer in a hunter's crosshairs. "You think it's just instinct, but it's something more, and you've sensed it all along. You were just afraid of it, afraid to be any stranger or more alien than you already were."

He stood up, unwilling to let her finish. He already knew what she was going to say, and he wasn't ready to hear it yet. "You don't know me," he told her, coldly, "Just stay out of my head, lady."

"Dean Winchester," she retorted, getting to her feet, and pointing a finger in his direction. "You can't walk away from who you are, boy. You walk out of here, and yourself follows wherever you go, just like a shadow. You're gonna have to look in that mirror some time, and admit what you see, even if it isn't pretty."

He flinched, hearing his own voice... inner demon mocking, _'You hate the face you see in the mirror...'_

"See you around," he said, stiffly and practically ran away. And he knew she'd heard him, the thing that had spoken, the thing he couldn't deny he was.

- - -

When he got back, Sam and Bobby were discussing the best methods of cooking fish. He rolled his eyes and wondered, "I'd save that for if you ever catch one."

"Dean, back so soon?" Bobby retorted, and tossed him a flask full of holy water.

Dean took a sip, tossed it back. "Yeah, the chicks are getting uglier. And I couldn't get drunk enough not to mind."

Sam pulled a face at the lame joke. "Where'd you really go, Dean?"

"Missouri's," he answered. "She says 'hi.'" He was getting a headache... had been, ever since he'd left her place and started back.

"God, I'm starved," he said, "You still have food in your fridge, Bobby, or did Sammy eat it all?" He started up the steps and went into the house.

Sam followed him, and confronted him as he started scavanging in the kitchen. "What did she say?"

"Said you had a big head, and she didn't want to hurt your feelings last time by telling you to your face."

"Dean," Sam retorted, annoyed.

Dean stuck some leftover hamburger helper in the microwave. The microwave hummed, and Sam spoke over it, "Dean, what did she _tell_ you?"

He waited until the microwave beeped. Then he turned to Sam and answered, "She said Mom was probably a psychic. But she didn't know for sure."

Sam swallowed, looked ashamed. Dean's headache got worse, and he turned and got the food out of the microwave to hide his wince. He was trying to put it on the little round table, when everything blurred and spun. He felt himself falling and then stopping, suddenly.

"Dean!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes:** Hi, guys. Sorry this took so long. And it probably won't be what you might have been looking forward to. But I feel like I did my best, so here you go. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

**Spoilers:** All the way up to Season 4, Episode 3 ("In the Beginning"). Especially from recent episodes and some episodes in season 3.

- - -

**- 2 -**

John was still up watching TV. Or he'd fallen asleep watching TV again, Mary wasn't sure which. She didn't mind his bad habits, considering it kept him from noticing she'd been having nightmares all this week and the last. They weren't going to stop anytime soon. She knew that.

Sammy was asleep, soft baby face all peaceful and sweet, like an angel's. She'd tucked Dean into bed a couple hours earlier. He'd been worried. A frown found its way between her brows and lingered there, like it was making plans to stay.

_"Mommy, there's a monster in the dark."_

_"How do you know that, sweetie?" she'd asked, stroking Dean's soft hair away from his forehead--still baby hair. It'd get darker as he got older._

_"It feels like something bad is watching me," he'd answered, and her hand had stilled on its own._

_She'd caught herself and started up the soothing motion again. "It's okay, sweetie. There's nothing there. And you know what?"_

_"What?" he'd asked, ready to believe anything she said._

_"Even if there was, it couldn't hurt you. And you know why?" He'd shaken his head, innocent eyes on her face. "There're angels watching over you, remember?"_

_"Mommy," he'd chided, sounding strangely like John at that moment._

'Growing up too fast,' _she'd thought. "Dean, would I ever lie to you?" He'd shaken his head, looking chastened. "There're angels watching over all of us--little Sammy, Daddy, me, you. All of us. We're safe. They won't even let us trip and scab our knees, that's how much they care about us. So don't you worry about anything in the dark. You know why?"_

_"Why?"_

_"Because God is light, and angels are his warriors, so they're made of light too. Okay?" He'd looked a little skeptical, so she'd tickled him for emphasis. "Okay?"_

_"Mommy!" She'd laughed with him and gotten up. "Sweet dreams, sweetie." Kissed his forehead, ruffled his hair. "I love you."_

And she wished what she told him was true. She hoped and prayed it was. But if it wasn't, there was John's gun in the top dresser drawer, and a baseball bat propped up in the living room.

- - -

Sam caught Dean, carried him out into the living room and lowered him onto the couch. "Dean!" he called again, and Bobby appeared near his shoulder.

"What happened?" he demanded, and Sam shook his head.

"One second we were talking, and the next thing I knew, he passed out."

Dean looked like he was coming around again, but the odd, vague look in his eyes told Sam that he wasn't completely with it yet. "Dean, hey, you okay?" he asked, and Bobby reappeared at his shoulder again, handing him a glass of water.

"Maybe just got overheated," he murmured, while Sam held the glass to Dean's lips.

There was a sick jolt somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Seeing Dean like this was a little too familiar. He only ever saw this when his brother was near death or dead already. It wasn't a nice sensation. Dean fumbled for the glass and drank some of its contents.

His eyes cleared up a bit, and he asked, "Why are you hoverin?"

"Dean, you just passed out," Sam chided.

"No I didn't," Dean retorted, then saw Bobby and blinked. "Where'd you come from?"

Bobby made a rude noise. "What's goin' on, boy? You forget to stop for M&Ms on your way back?"

"No... I..." Dean began, and then trailed off. "Come on, you know I'm not stupid," he finally finished, defensively.

Sam frowned at him. "Something's going on with you," he said. "You better spill it, or I'm gonna start pulling nails."

Dean grimaced. "You couldn't have come up with a better analogy than that?"

He shook his head, remembering how excruciating it'd felt when it'd happened to him.

Dean drank some more water, eyeing him over the rim of the glass, then attempted to get up. Sam caught him and helped him, despite the glare he received. "Let go. I want my lunch." He pointed to the kitchen, and Sam released him, watching as he found his balance, sloshing the water as he did.

He followed Dean back into the kitchen, glancing back at Bobby and exchanging a knowing shrug. "What's going on, Dean?" he asked, when he found his brother at the table, chowing down on the leftovers straight from the tupperware.

"What'd'you mean?" Dean wondered around a mouthful, innocently, and Sam scowled.

"What do you mean, 'what do you mean'? You just passed out, and now you're going to play it _off_ like it wasn't a big deal? Are you possessed, or something?" Sam didn't miss the frustrated note in his own voice.

Dean blinked a couple times, thoughtfully chewing at the blandly colored noodles they'd had last night for supper. "I drank holy water just a minute ago," he said, lightly, "Did you see steam comin' out my mouth?"

Sam wondered, "Then what's wrong with you?" He shifted his stance, leaned up against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest.

"Okay, I admit, I didn't eat the whole drive back. Maybe my blood sugar's low, or something," his brother lied, blithely, and Sam couldn't help the complete incredulity he felt.

"This has something to do with Missouri, right?"

Dean scoffed. "Sure, Sammy, I ticked her off by putting my boots on the furniture, and she cursed me with narcolepsy."

Sam's lips twitched. He wanted to smile but felt too lost and worried to give in to Dean's misdirection tactics. "Did she tell you something else about Mom?" Maybe something like what Ruby had told him to check up on--all of Mom's friends being dead... every single one of them.

"No, that's it. Didn't say anything about Dad bein' psychic. You know, I thought maybe 'cause of how good he was with the tracking. Had to have some sort of sixth sense or something to do that, but nope, he was just smart, like I knew all along."

Great, now Dean was rambling. Another diversion attempt. Sam finally gave in and took it. He scooted out a chair and sat down, wondering, "Did she say Mom had visions?"

"Nah, just sort of implied it," Dean answered, quickly, maybe a little too quickly, a little too easily.

Sam nodded, and his brother swallowed his last bite of macaroni before asking, "Sam, you know something more about Mom that you're not telling me?"

He carefully hid his surprise, and shook his head, slowly. "No. What makes you ask that?"

Dean frowned, got up to wash the dish. "Nothin', you just seem a little more quiet than usual."

_'He knows you're hiding something,'_ some voice at the back of his head taunted, _'More than one thing. He knows you're a liar, Sammy, and he's gonna find you out one of these days...'_ He hated the way the voice sounded just like the Demon.

- - -

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"

Mary didn't even really wake up, but she was already jumping out of bed and heading down the hall to her oldest son's room. The good thing was, she got there on time. The bad thing was...

She'd come unarmed.

There was something dark, standing over Dean, something that wanted to hurt him. She didn't think twice; she just grabbed it and flung it. She didn't spare time to pay attention to where it went afterward. She just turned and grabbed Dean and started to rush from the room.

The thing followed, and where it went, the shadows looked even darker. How long had it been watching Dean? How long had it been biding its time?

In her arms, Dean was sobbing and calling for his daddy. She darted into Sammy's nursery, worried that it might not just be after Dean. When she tried to hit the light, it wouldn't come on.

Then, over by Sam's crib, she thought it was John, already standing there, just checking in on his youngest. But then he turned--

"Aaghhh!"

"Mary, it's fine, it's all right," John was saying and gripping her shoulder.

"No," she said, and lurched out of bed and started to rush from the room, but changed her mind and grabbed the journal on her nightstand.

There was always a certain bookmark, set in one certain place, for just such an occasion. She flipped it open to that spot, fingers shaking, jarred by her rushing movement to Dean's room.

She flung the door open and gasped.

- - -

Dean finally got away from Sam's half-accusatory, half-evasive looks, and Bobby's non-prying, prying questions.

He took a walk, thinking Sam might need the car for something.

He was almost to a park, when something odd happened. He almost passed out, and when he stopped feeling dizzy, he noticed a young girl, standing in front of him.

She was about ten, and had blue eyes and brown hair, and she said, "Don't go this way, Dean. Stay strong, and witness the deliverance of the Lord."

While he was still catching flies, she walked away and joined a woman, who was sitting on a park bench. Dean stared, as the girl very normally walked to a car and got in with her parent.

A chill ran down his spine. He didn't even think for a second that she was possessed. Demons spread lies and confusion. So without even having to question it, he knew exactly what she meant. Just because some psychic who was hardly ever wrong said he had powers didn't mean he needed to give in to the "dark side."

He could take it or leave it.

_Stay strong..._

Maybe he _was_ psychic. But maybe it didn't come from any place he wanted to get it from.

He shook himself and scoffed a little. He'd been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, like an idiot. "Get ahold of yourself, Winchester," he muttered, and turned to head back home.

- - -

Sam could feel it when Dean got back. A widening distance, a brick wall being built up between them.

"Dean... I'm tired of beating around the bush. What'd Missouri tell you? And why'd you pass out earlier?"

Dean paused. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it down on the couch. "You want the truth?"

"Yeah."

"She said maybe Mom was psychic, maybe not." Sam glared then finally gave just a little. "Then what's with the fainting spell?"

Dean pursed his lips, gave a marginal shrug, sat down. "Not a clue. Maybe I'm pregnant." He offered his brother a cheeky grin.

Sam's nostrils flared; he shifted his weight. He could push some more, get into a huge fight... But the thing was, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He didn't kid himself that he was afraid. Dean was already headed to hell. That was just the fear he _admitted_ to.

No, he had to be a _little_ truthful, at least with himself. This was about what Dean might know, what he might be holding back. If Dean had found out something about Mom that he hadn't known Sam already knew... Sam wasn't sure he was prepared for that confrontation.

Maybe it was better if they just kept telling each other these half-truths if it meant not being angry right before Dean--

"Okay." He relaxed his shoulders, took a little breath. "What do you want to get for supper?"

_Epilogue_

The room was full of a blinding light. Mary fell to her knees and covered her face with an arm. The journal fell out of her numb fingertips.

"Oh, my God," she said, and the light faded a bit.

The angel spoke, but his lips didn't move, '_Mary, do not be afraid. Your prayers have been answered, and your cries have been heard. Your firstborn son is safe, and no harm will come to him.'_

She wanted to ask, "What about Sammy? What about my other son?" but something about the angel's fearsomeness stayed her lips. She could barely move, let alone ask him questions.

He seemed to hear her anyway. _'Samuel will not be harmed.'_ Something about the way he said it didn't put her completely at ease. It was like that silent 'but' hanging off the end of a sentence.

_'Why did you rescue him? Did God really answer my prayers?'_

The angel inclined his radiant brow. _'The Darkness was sent to destroy him, an attempt to stop destiny. But God's hand is on your child. Do not fear for him, any longer. I shall keep him safe until that day.' _

She wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded better than what she'd had to hope in so far. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she nodded, not able to speak aloud even now. _'Thank you...'_

_'The glory is the Lord's,'_ the angel said, almost sternly, and then was gone.

She rushed to her feet and ran to the bed. But when she caught Dean up into her arms, she realized he was asleep, and still sleeping soundly, even now.

_'Thank you, God... Thank you... Thank you...'_

- end -

_Quote:_ Exodus 14:13, 2 Chron. 20:17 (I paraphrased from the KJV)


End file.
